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A midnight shape brought her from her noon reverie, the tones a little familiar, enough for her to guess she'd found - been found by - the unseen music maker. "Their optimism lives on in those that hum tunes in ruined buildings," Caspa observed, her words unintentionally taking on something of a lyrical tone themselves. She was in a pensive mood, and he was holding an instrument. It seemed right that they should speak with words more resembling poetry than introduction. "Maybe you should make these words fit your tune, and brighten up my day even more." Her head cocked a little as she said this, soft fine ear fur falling out of the plaits here and there around her face, curious eyes scampering over his face and piercings and zig-zagging straight forelock. Her face felt jutting, laid bare in comparison to his carefully framed features.
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